


Fathers of the Year

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Annoyed Dean Winchester, Castiel Acts Like Endverse Castiel, Daddy Issues, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Punk Castiel, Sexual Humor, Taking Home A Baby Assignment, health class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Dean shrugs and allows the smile tugging at his lips to come forth. “Well, at least we agree on something, right? We both despise each other.”“Yeah,” Cas says, and Dean turns to see the corner of Cas’s lip itching for a smile too, “yeah, that’s true.”They could just sit here in silence again, pondering how they came to be where they are—as close as they are. But Dean has this bad habit of adding more tension to an already bad situation. It’s more of a gift, really.





	Fathers of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> So I was scrolling through dailyau.tumblr.com, and I saw a suggested prompt about the classic health class scenerio, taking care of a fake baby for however long, and imagining Dean and Cas as pretend fathers was too good not to write.

 

“Miss Moseley there has to be some mistake,” Dean explains, huffing a laugh that’s no doubt caused by the humiliation still pinching his throat.

Dean’s known Miss Moseley since he could drive toy cars into drywall. She may be on the shorter side, but she has a fierce temper. Not even his father, the late and great John Winchester, could escape her wrath. She used to babysit both he and his brother, and after John came to pick them up after work a little later than usual, he was so shaken by her words that his face was reduced to an angry raisin, his mouth not flapping like a busted flip-flop, as it usually does, but pressed tight as he drove them home.

Ms. Moseley’s eyebrows rise like a drawbridge that’s been out of service for thousands of years. “Boy, it’s 2017, not _19_ 17,” she says. “I’m not about to reassign you because your masculinity’s somehow in jeopardy.”

“That’s not—I don’t care about that.”

“Oh really now?” Miss Moseley tests. “Because a few seconds ago, you two were at each other’s throats.”

Dean sighs before he starts again, trying to find the appropriate way to say—“Cas hates me. I don’t know what I did to piss him off, but he hates me. How am I supposed to foster a child with someone who hates me? That can’t be healthy for the baby. You know, in a real-life circumstance.”

“Honey, this is high school, we’re gearing you up _for_ real-life.”

“So what, you’re saying I’ll marry someone who I end up hating?”

“Yes,” Miss Moseley asserts without a beat, “absolutely. But health class is supposed to teach you how to care for another human life—even and especially when a marriage doesn’t work in perfect harmony.”

“Cas and I don’t sing in _any_ key, on any musical scale. We’re just… different.”

“It’s just a few more days,” Miss Moseley says. “Remember, your child’s well-being is your priority.”

Dean shakes his head with a scoff as he picks up his backpack. He has to venture out to Cas’s house today. The assignment requires shared custody, because apparently a guy like Cas can fly through the court system with that wrung-out mop of dark brown hair, five different piercings on one ear and another on his tongue that’s likely infected from all the bullshit he throws at Dean for being a _normal_ fucking human being, and rumpled and ripped clothes that make him look like a retired hipster.

Oh well. If Cas hates Dean as much as Dean hates him, then he’ll want to make the visit as quick as possible.

One thing’s for sure is Dean’s definitely waiting on having kids.

**

“Are you sure you fed it the right amount of milk?!” Dean yells over the earache-inducing shrieking.

“There’s no _right_ amount of milk!” Cas shouts, “You just put the bottle to its mouth and it just—it’s supposed to shut up by now, I don’t know what to— _oh my God!_ ”

“What?!” Dean rages, then turns back to the crying baby and sees it: The little plastic demon is somehow regurgitating white fluids it hasn’t even ingested. ‘The screaming comes to a stop, at least, and leans back on the floor of Cas’s room and breathes a sigh of relief despite the ringing in his ear, “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t breastfeed your kids.”

Cas leans back too, but not before scoffing, “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, likewise.” There’s a pregnant pause (pun definitely intended), then Dean chirps up: “You know, I think we’re better dads than we give ourselves credit for.”

Cas swivels his head and narrows his eyes with purpose. “Dean, we’re watching our baby gag on its formula.”

“Well… yeah,” Dean says, turning away from Cas’s dark blue scrutiny and why is he scratching his neck? Is there a blush back there?—“But, you know, at least we try. And you know I hate having to see you longer than I need to, so that shows a lot of dedication.”

Cas shrugs and nods, “That’s true. I hate seeing you, too.”

“What’re you talking about?” Dean scoffs, “I’m a joy to be around.”

“You threw a tantrum in the lunch line the other day because Gordon cut in front of you.”

“That was the _last_ slice of cherry pie.”

“Whatever you say.”

Dean shrugs and allows the smile tugging at his lips to come forth. “Well, at least we agree on something, right? We both despise each other.”

“Yeah,” Cas says, and Dean turns to see the corner of Cas’s lip itching for a smile too, “yeah, that’s true.”

They could just sit here in silence again, pondering how they came to be where they are—as close as they are. But Dean has this bad habit of adding more tension to an already bad situation. It’s more of a gift, really.

“My dad basically told me he hated me when I moved in with my Uncle Bobby, cos he didn’t try to stop me,” Dean says, his laugh flattening out the same way a plastic bag with extra air does. “But the craziest part’s he ended up sacrificing himself for me.  Car accident couple years back. My dad was driving. Some guy ran a red light heading north. We t-boned him, my dad put his hand in front of the airbag, and—sorry.” Dean shakes his head and mentally curses himself. “I don’t know why I’m getting into this.”

“My dad was an alcoholic, left when I was little,” Cas says, surprising Dean as he turns his head in time to see Cas huffing a dry laugh too, “That’s all I know about him, come to think of it.”

“Is that why you’re… you know…?”

“A druggie?”

Dean throws his head back at the way it slips Cas’s tongue so casually. Then again, it’s probably not the first time he’s been name-called. Dean’s been there, playing the starring role of the quiet but snarky kid in class in a really bad teen movie. After his dad, things weren’t the same… it took Sam at least a year to fully forgive his brother, and it took Dean some intensive therapy to forgive _himself_.

“Wow. Um… I was going to say a poster boy for the Vietnam War protest, but... so, wait, you do drugs?”

Cas shrugs, but his shoulders carry weight. “Sometimes. Weed, mostly. It helps, but I don’t like to depend on anything… obviously, since some _people_ can’t be depended on.”

“Well, I mean, I was just wondering for the sake of our child.”

Cas’s lips quirk up a little more than before, exposing a little bit of gum with his teeth and a couple dimples in his coarse cheeks, and yeah, Dean never really paid attention since Cas wears more layers of sarcasm than Dean does flannel, but he’s actually pretty cute.

You know, despite the whole poster boy for Vietnam bit.

“Thanks,” he says, then steels himself to say: “Sorry for your loss.”

Dean shrugs, obviously not interested in turning this little rendezvous into a pity party. But it’s also obvious Cas knows loss too, so he’s speaking from the heart Dean didn’t know he had. “Thanks. You too.”

Cas shakes his head and laughs dryly, “It’s not a loss when it wasn’t a gain to begin with.” He pauses, facing Dean with that same stoic expression he’s known for: “You know, you’re not bad… for a prep.”

Dean scoffs, “I’m not a prep.”

“Dean, I’ve seen you dress up for every spirit week since I’ve been at this school.”

“Okay, look: Half the school comes in their PJs anyway, school colors are blue and black, which basically defines half of my wardrobe, and Cowboy Day—”

“What? You just have a poncho lying around?” Cas laughs. Dean looks down. Cas’s eyes widen. “You do _not.”_

“Hey, that poncho got me laid, alright?”

“I’m _positive_ it wasn’t the poncho.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean tests, moving closer to Cas, “What makes you so sure?”

Cas shakes his head, a blush spreading to his cheeks. “Nothing.”

“No. No way, you’re not backing out of this.”

“I think we need to change the baby’s diaper.”

“It’s a _doll,_ Cas,” Dean emphasizes. “‘C’mon, what is it that got me laid?”

Cas bites his lower lip. Dean’s not sure why he tracks the movement, but questioning can wait until after Cas replies—“You’re hot, alright?”

Dean’s mouth parts and he says stupidly over his newly racing heart, “You mean temperature wise, right?”

“Dean,” Cas says with a small laugh, “for the record-breaking biggest pompous asshole I’ve ever met, you’re so oblivious to your own appeal. You were prancing around with that fucking poncho like you were hot shit, when it’s literally everything else about you that ranks you a top contestant in a bull riding show.”

Dean gulps. He knows where this is going to go, and he’s so _not_ prepared: “Meaning?”

“ _Meaning_ , I’d let you ride me like a rented bull any day of the week—to be frank.”

“No, no, I… um, I got it,” Dean says and he finds himself leaning closer into Cas, and though Cas doesn’t seem to mind with the way he’s leaning in too: “We can’t.”

Dean feels the loss of Cas’s warm breath as he sucks it back in and starts to lean back. “No. No, um… you’re right,” Cas agrees, unable to keep the hint of disappointment from his tone. “This is weird. I shouldn’t have said anything, let’s just—”

“I meant… with the baby here,” Dean clarifies, glancing over at the doll, “Can we… move it? Or throw a sheet over its eyes or something?”

Cas lets out a shaky chuckle. “I have a better idea,” he says, and, with haste fingers, lifts his shirt up and over his head, tossing it on top of the doll. The baby’s whining kicks in again, growing louder by the second, but all Dean’s focused on is Cas’s chiseled and evenly tanned bare chest and is that a tattoo peeking out from his hip?

“Oh we’re _so_ going to get an F,” Dean says just before he dives into Cas’s lips.


End file.
